


my daddy put a gun to my head

by thursdaykisses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Anal Sex, Bad Parent John Winchester, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Sex, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Oil as Lube, Olive Oil as Lube, Top Dean Winchester, Unsafe Sex, Violence, what a fucking 180 in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27023764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaykisses/pseuds/thursdaykisses
Summary: Cas is Dean's best friend. John knows that's not all.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 54





	my daddy put a gun to my head

**Author's Note:**

> So this was mostly inspired by [YUNGBLUD - Parents](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOWBsmgjmPo) but it's also a vent. I didn't like the headspace I was in while I was writing this and I had to cut it off, because it was too heavy for me lol. It has an ending, of course, but I didn't get to write it how I wanted. Sorry! I didn't even like editing this, lmao. *cries*
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNINGS:** Emotional breakdown, suicidal thoughts, physical assault, homophobia, and slurs.

  
  


Cas pants under him, on the verge of hyperventilating, eyes wide and afraid, and Dean’s heart breaks for him. He lays down beside his best friend, turning Cas to his side so they could face each other, draping an arm over Cas’ waist to put a hand to his back and rub comforting circles.

Dean doesn’t tell him that it’s going to be okay, that he’ll be fine and this will pass. It will never be okay. Instead, he says, “I’m with you the whole time, Cas. Breath.”

Cas hics painfully, chest jolting with it, but he takes a shaky inhale in, less shaky at the exhale. His shoulders shake as he forces himself to hold the tears in, but they escape when he shuts his eyes, pushing his face into Dean’s chest to hide his face. “C-can’t,” he stammers out, hushed voice too loud in the silence of the house. “C-can’t breathe.”

“Try to match with me,” Dean says, deliberately heaving his chest with every loud breath, so Cas can listen and feel and mimic. Dean’s blood boils but he forces himself to be calm. He wishes they were dead. Then they wouldn’t be going through this.

They’re both desperately trying to shove dark misery and bury it in themselves, but Cas begins to cool down, body still jolting with every painful hic from his chest, then he’s just gasping in Dean’s arms.

An hour and then he’s asleep.

Dean pulls away a bit to look at Cas’ relaxed, tear-blotched face, never detaching himself from Cas. His heart swells for this boy, fondness and affection expanding his heart, filling until it’s ready to burst.

Then his bedroom door is being thrown open and Dean freezes. He hadn’t heard footsteps. His dad’s at the door and one glance at Dean and _he knows_. Fuck. Dean rips his gaze away from Cas to look at his dad. John’s face is red.

“Get your ass to my room, boy.”

Without another word, he was stomping away and Dean’s untangling himself from Cas. He shakes but not in fear. He wishes they were dead. God, he wishes they were dead.

His dad’s probably waiting for him but Dean spends a few minutes positioning pillows around Cas, hoping he’ll stay asleep. His dad will kill him for even making him wait and that thought alone drives Dean out of his room. His dad’s nowhere to be found.

Dean stands in front of his dad’s bed until John’s storming in, downing a bottle of beer that Dean knows tastes like sewage piss. John bangs the door shut behind him sliding the lock in with a loud click. Dean simply stands there. John walks over to the nighstand, slams the now empty bottle down. “You a fag, Dean?” He paces back and forth.

Dean’s too afraid to open his mouth. If he does, the rancor and everything rage will come spilling out and the bête noire will consume him.

His dad strides up to him, grabbed his jaw and dug his fingers in. “What would your mother think?”

This time, Dean can’t help but blurt out, “She’s dead.”

His ear rings before he registers he’s been backhanded.

“Don’t you speak about your mother like that, Dean Winchester,” his father growls. Dean’s lips twist into a sneer. He was only saying the truth. “Don’t you look at me like that. I see how you look at that boy! I didn’t raise no fag.”

You didn’t raise me at all. Dean looks away, pretends to be bored, ignoring the throb in the high area of his cheekbone, behind his eye.

“Get him out of my house and never see him again,” John says. Dean laughs. Sees in the corner of his eye the veins in John’s temple. “Something funny, Dean?” His voice has gone down, quiet. Dangerous. “Not gonna listen to your dad ‘cause you got a boyfriend now?”

“What the fuck’s your business with me and Cas?” Dean snaps, manic and as angry. “He’s my best friend, leave us alone.”

“Now you’re lying to me?” John shouts, getting all up in his face, hand raised, ready to hit Dean again. “Your mother would be so ashamed of you,” he hisses through gritted teeth. 

“I only care for you because she wanted me to. She’d be so disappointed in you You are one of the reasons why Castiel’s family—”

“Don’t you _fucking_ say his name!” Dean bellows, shoving at John’s chest. His father stumbles for only half a second before he’s shoving back and Dean’s falling back to the bed, his dad immediately on him, hands on Dean’s throat and pressing down, angry red and veins popping.

“Don’t you fucking speak to me like that,” John snarls, spittle landing on Dean’s eyelid and cheek.

Dean chokes, thrashing and trying to get away, legs kicking uselessly at the air and nails clawing at John’s wrist, arms. “F-fucking,” he gasps, scorn washing over him like a wave. “Let me go!” His arm stretches out for the nightstand, fingers wrapping around the cool neck of an empty beer bottle and immediately batting it over his dad’s head.

Glass explodes, lands near Dean’s head and on the floor, but the hands around his throat loosen and John’s eyes are wide with barely any pupil. He slides open the drawer of the nightstand and then he’s pressing the barrel of a gun to Dean’s forehead. “I see you kiss that boy and I’m gonna shoot you dead.”

“We were only hugging!” Dean screams and he loses control of himself for a moment.

“I see how you look at him!” 

Dean rams what's left of the bottle left in his hand to his dad’s head harder than before and the glass shatters in his palm, falling to the floor like chime music. 

John and his gun drop to the carpeted floor in two heavy distinct thuds.

What the fuck just happened.

Dean sits up, stares at his dad on the floor laying in the mess of glass with a gun by his leg. The side of his head has a deep cut that’s bleeding slow, lazy and black-red. He’s not dead. _He’s not._

Dean jumps up, runs out of the room, tiptoeing around small bits of glass that he can only see because they reflect the afternoon light from the windows. He shoves his feet into shoes, peeking into his bedroom for a moment to see Cas sound asleep and still in the same position. The image of it soothes him.

He returns to John’s room, grabbing both of his hands and pulling it over his head and begins to drag. Glass scratches and more cuts form along his dad’s body. Dean ignores it. His dad is heavy but he’s determined, only a bit afraid when he realizes his heart is beating at its average pace, like it usually does. Like he didn’t just kill his father.

 _No._ Dean shakes his head. He didn’t kill anyone.

His heart beats. Thump. Thump. Steady.

He pushes John’s unconscious body down the stairs, numb at the thud-thud-thud, then he’s back to dragging. He opens the door to the backyard. Drags. 

Most of the backyard is a garden Dean’s been watering religiously since his mom died but he’s focused on the shed that’s in the corner, in the outermost part of the backyard. The afternoon sun beats down on him, arms beginning to strain as he drags his father behind him, leaving a trail of flattened grass.

He reaches the shed in what feels like an hour, unceremoniously cramming his father into it. He finds gaffer tape and scissors in a shelf, doesn’t waste time tying his father up, wrists behind his back, feet in front of him and then tying his limbs all together against his torso.

He doesn’t look back when he locks the shed behind him.

Cas is standing by a bed of roses that haven’t bloomed, barefoot and slack with sleep.

Dean marches up to him, yanks him into a rough kiss that’s a hard press of lips first and then dissolving into teeth and tongue into the warm, wet, velvety of the inside of a mouth. “Let me fuck you,” Dean says. “Can I, Cas?”

“No lube,” Cas says against his lips, knees buckling and arms wrapped around Dean, holding on for dear life, moaning so prettily when Dean reaches down and squeezes each ass cheek with his hands. “D-Dean.”

“Want you so much,” Dean takes Cas by the shoulders and gently lowers him to the ground, Cas looking up at him with trusting blue eyes. He looks good in the grass. Dean hovers over him on fours and then he’s trailing kisses from Cas’ neck to his jawline, sucking and nipping. “Do you want me too, Cas?”

“It's not even a question, of course I want you, Dean.” Cas’ hands go up to bury fingers in Dean’s hair, keeping Dean’s head on his neck. “B-but lube?”

“We don’t have to fuck. Shit, sorry.” Dean raises his head to look at Cas. “I just. This is okay. Kissing.”

Cas smiles at him softly, raising his knees on either side of Dean, hands moving down to Dean’s back and pushing, making Dean lay on top of him. “You don’t have lube? Bedroom?”

“No,” Dean replies, rutting against Cas as he continues to plant kisses along the column of his throat, hands sneaking under Cas’ (his) shirt and feeling up the warm skin. “But there’s olive oil in the kitchen.”

“I— okay,” Cas’ cheeks turn pink, not very sure about putting oil inside him, but more than certain about letting Dean do anything he wants to him, “we can work with that. Get the olive oil. I’ll be right here.”

Dean gives him a sloppy kiss, licking into his mouth messily, then he’s getting off Cas and running back inside the house, rifling through kitchen cupboards and drawers. He finds the olive oil and turns, about to run back into the backyard when he pauses, blood rushing south. He moves to the door, leans against the frame of it. Cas’ hands are down his sweatpants, eyes shut as he touches himself.

Dean can see the subtle bucking of his hips up, legs closed around his wrist. He’s gorgeous, in the garden and in the light, and he’s Dean’s.

His eyes snap open, tilting his head slightly to the side to look at Dean from where he’s laying. He doesn’t stop touching himself, only smiles at Dean, shy as can be while putting on a show. He spreads his legs, between a come-hither. 

Dean doesn’t want to make him wait. He pushes himself off the frame, doesn’t waste time dropping to his knees between Cas’ legs. “Wait,” Cas mumbles, turning around to get on his knees and elbows, ass raised. He tugs his pants and underwear down in one go. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dean echoes, pouring olive oil on his index, coating it generously before prodding at the furled muscle of Cas’ opening. Cas pushes back, hole fluttering. Dean’s never fucked a guy before. His pulse begins to quicken. 

He pushes the finger in, thrusting it unsurely before adding a second finger, pouring even more olive oil, the liquid sticky and slick in his hands and dripping down to his wrist. Cas flinches and Dean does, too. “Cas? You okay, angel?” He asks worriedly, completely freezing.

Cas only says, “Please fuck me now,” always so polite.

Dean adds a third finger and then forth, scissoring and curling fingers carefully. He thinks he didn’t spend enough time prepping Cas, but Cas is moving his hips like he’s trying to grind back against something and it’s adorable and Dean feels kinda bad for him, for the way Cas’ breathing is starting to pick up and he’s panting about how Dean needs to fuck him _now_.

Dean’s never been one to say no to Cas.

He undoes the fly of his jeans and pulls his hard cock out. Olive oil’s fucking nasty and sticky, but it kinda tingles and it does the job nicely. Cas turns his head over his shoulder and watches as Dean slicks himself up, leisurely jacking off with the olive oil.

“Dean,” Cas says, almost chastising Dean for not putting it inside him.

Dean smiles at him, apologetic. “Sorry, angel.” Hand around his shaft, he guides himself to Cas’ entrance, pushes in torturously slow, inch by inch, Cas tense and moaning small moans under him like he’s trying to keep quiet, until he’s buried to the hilt. His mind’s a little bit dizzy with how tight Cas is, tighter than anything, tighter than everything Dean's ever had.

“Dean,” Cas says again, grinding back.

“Shush, Cas,” Dean groans out, feeling like he’s been scattered to the winds. He tries to regain his composure, staying inside Cas while Cas stares at him amusedly. “Can’t help it,” Dean grumbles. “You’re fuckin’ tight. I stretched you right, didn’t I? How you feelin’?” Dean rumbles.

“Feels like I have a dick inside me,” Cas replied, awed and merry, laying his head on his folded forearms. Dean laughs. “You prepped me good, Dean. Move?”

“`M sorry, angel.” Dean chuckles, still feeling a bit dazed. “Can’t. Not yet. ‘S too tight.”

Cas bumps him back with his ass a little and Dean laughs again as he pull away, just a bit. “’Kay, geez, moving now.” Dean’s fond of Cas.

Who’s he kidding. He’s in love with the guy.

As Dean’s thrusting, building a pace, he conversationally asks, “Wanna run away with me?”

“Only if you fuck me properly,” Cas mumbles, just raising his ass for Dean. Dean laughs, glances down to look at the way he disappears into Cas. Cas’ thighs are shaky and Dean runs one hand down to stroke over a thigh. 

Dean would have thought this would be more frantic and rushed. His dad’s a few feet away locked and passed out in a shed. He’s fucking Cas but he could call it making love.

Cas tugs him down at some point, so he could turn his head over his shoulder and kiss Dean, chaste. Their knees dig into the grassy soil and Cas' fingers are trying to hold on to the dirt as Dean rocks their bodies together.

It doesn't take long when Dean wraps a hand around Cas' erection, jerking him off in time with his thrusts. Cas comes with a full-body shiver and a, " _Guh_ ," like he doesn't want to make a sound and he clenches tight around Dean, pulling Dean over the edge of the cliff with him. They lay there for a long time. Cas twists around so he can hold Dean in his arms.

He plants a kiss on Dean's forehead. They don't need to say 'I love you'. There would never be enough words.

The next day, neighbors report hearing strange sounds from the house next door. Wood banging and muffled screams, it sounds like. They find a tied up man in the shed and a teenage boy’s bedroom void of belongings.

Another day passes and the town’s talking about the missing boys. There’s the common speculation of running away together, but the Novak family says, _no, our boy loves us too much to leave, it was probably that Winchester boy’s bad influence_. The town believes them, believes the preacher and his choir boys. They stop talking about it in less than a week.

Three states over, Dean’s holding Cas as he rocks into him. He doesn't know what they'll do, not yet. But he wishes they’d live forever.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
